A Fellow Cape
by OverlyDramatic
Summary: Lois Lane never needed anyone. Her heroic alter-ego is just fine on her own. But when the RBB blurs back into town, she gets a little more than she bargained for. AU Blur-Etto
1. Prologue

I was watching The Incredibles a few weeks ago, and I was struck all over again with my love of superhero stuff. For some reason Stiletto came to mind. I wasn't much of a fan of Lois's superhero dallying the first time around, but all of a sudden I had to write a story. And so this piece was born. It's AU, but not hugely different from the original storyline.

**Disclaimer: I just like to play, I don't get to take them home.**

*****

Lois pushed herself up on the asphalt, rubbing at her dirt streaked, leather-clad thigh with one gloved hand. With an annoyed sigh, she resigned herself to another night with a toothbrush and a sink full of laundry detergent. Moonlighting as a superhero was often more work after the sun rose. At least kicking criminal ass gave her a sense of satisfaction; hand-washing her suit only gave her dry skin. As she climbed to her feet, Lois realized with a groan that the damage was worse that she had originally speculated. She had landed near the victim's purse—the woman herself was long gone—and somehow managed to grind lipstick into the fabric covering her left hip.

"Why the hell didn't I choose something machine washable?" she muttered, not for the first time. Of course, it hadn't mattered much when it was a charade for a story, but for once Lois wished she had tempered her ambition with foresight. Leather went out of style for a reason—namely, discomfort and maintenance—and the heels weren't any better.

"But they do have their perks," she said brightly, striding to where the shady Jack the Ripper wannabe lay slumped against the wall. She could barely make out his face in the horror-movie lighting of the alley, but she knew it would only give her a more menacing edge. She couldn't help but grin to herself as she watched him stir, groaning as his eyes fluttered open.

"If you want to avoid further injury," she moved as she spoke, until she was towering over him, "I would refrain from making any sudden movements."

He looked around, befuddled, before his eyes caught the reflection of light against the black leather of her boot. His eyes widened at the sight of her dangerous spike heel hovering menacingly above his groin, and he jerked instinctively away. Lois sighed, rolling her eyes before following through on her promise—not hard enough to give permanent damage, but definitely enough to make him think twice before following any more women down dark alleys.

"I did warn you," she told his twitching figure before bringing the front of her boot down on his skull, rendering him unconscious.

"They never listen," she added to herself, a little rueful. Turning on her heel, Lois jolted to a stop as she came face to face with a small, dark figure. The deep shadows of the surrounding buildings muted the costume, but Lois could still pick out the tones of red and yellow under the obscuring grey.

"Speedy," she noted, raising one eyebrow as she appraised the brightly dressed teen. "I'm surprised you didn't beat me here. Aren't these cases kind of your M.O.?"

"I wasn't neglecting the city," the girl defended righteously. Lois suppressed a grin at the hint of Green Arrow in her tone. She knew the cape-less crusader about as well as she knew her sources at the police station—she could sweet talk them out of classified information any day of the week, but ask them the name of their cat and they'd look at you like you were Lex Luthor.

Still, her reporter's instincts were sharp enough to deduce that Arrow had taken Speedy under his wing. And it didn't take a genius to see that the kid had a sore spot regarding victimized women.

"Don't worry, street fighter. I took care of Mr. Crude and Creepy over there. And when you finally get your driver's license? Let me know and I'll save a piece for you."

Speedy ignored the barb, looking over Lois's work. "Did you . . ." she paused for a minute, squinting at the way the criminal lay hunched on the dirty cement. " . . . Stiletto his balls?" she wondered, sounding both impressed and vindictively pleased.

A genuine smile tugged at Lois' lips. "Nice eye, kid. One of these days you'll be able to take 'em down yourself." Barely two months after the mini-crime fighter's debut, the girl already worked a night a week away from her green-garbed babysitter.

"How's that Arrow of yours these days?" Lois asked, then paused. "You know," she mused, "put the two of you together and you might be mistaken for a stoplight."

"Funny," Speedy intoned sourly. Then her eyes brightened, and her mouth quirked. "You like bright colors?" She appraised Lois's costume, from her dark chocolate hair to the tip of her shiny black boots. "I would have never known for all that black leather. I'll bet you love the new guy."

Despite her intended comeback, Lois found herself asking, "New guy?" with a little too much curiosity. Realizing her blunder, she crossed her arms and shot back, "wouldn't you just love it if I had a new superhero-in-training to tease?" Lois had been the new hero on the block for over a year, and when the Green Arrow got a sidekick, she had been only too happy to participate in a little hazing of her own.

Speedy's smile looked more delightfully informed than ever, and Lois let the question slip, "So, um, what new guy?"

"Friend of Arrow's. He blurred into town a few weeks ago." The teenage vigilante was feigning disinterest, but it was obvious she was pleased to be in the loop. Sometimes, Lois wished she weren't such an outcast among the stealth crime fighters of the city.

"Then he must be invisible," she surmised, a little annoyed. "Because I certainly haven't seen any-" she cut herself off as a familiar sense washed over her. It was the kind she often got chasing a story, that feeling that she had all the pieces, she just didn't know it yet.

She thought back, hoping to dislodge the stubborn piece of information clinging to the recesses of her memories.

Unlike most of Metropolis's vigilantes, Stiletto hadn't been born of altruistic motives. Lois had been in the right place at the wrong time, and the mafia errand boy mugging her cousin had gotten on the wrong end of Lois's heels. She had used the opportunity to scoop her fellow reporters on superhero saves around the city, and the masked heroes had taken it personally. When she found herself unwilling to abandon her new role, they hadn't exactly welcomed her into the secret club. Still, she knew enough about the capes around Metropolis to keep herself out of trouble.

The Green Arrow and Speedy were regulars; she could count on them to patrol at least five nights of the week. Black Canary was around often enough, though her frequent disappearances made Lois wonder if she wasn't based somewhere else. There were a few others: some zippy dude who dressed brightly enough that Lois wondered if he was Speedy's boyfriend. A dark guy who could smash through just about anything, and always seemed to find his way into high security buildings without tripping any alarms. A surfer-wannabe who hung out by the coast.

Once she thought she'd seen a pair of creepy red eyes floating midair, but whether friend or foe she couldn't tell. There was something else, though, that she knew she was missing. Something to do with the color red . . . .

"Blurred?" She realized suddenly just how carefully Speedy had chosen her words. But he couldn't be . . . . "The Red-Blur Blur?" she asked anyway, disbelief coloring her words.

"Up at the Tower, we call him Boy Scout," Speedy answered with a grin.

Lois didn't reply, overcome by a sudden urge to gaze starry-eyed at a blurry mug shot, splashed across the front page of the Daily Planet eighteen months ago. She'd never admit it—especially to Speedy—but the Blur had motivated her first steps into the world of costumed kick-ass. He had been her journalistic goal, her crime-fighting ideal, and quite honestly, just the thought of him made her heart beat faster. The thought of an interview with the Blur had ramped her ambition into overdrive. Before Lois had caught so much as a super-powered hiccup, his brief career in Metropolis was over, and hers was there to stay.

"You know the Red-Blue-Blur?" she asked, failing to notice the hopeful hint of hero-worship in her voice.

This time, Speedy laughed aloud. "I told you," she answered mysteriously, "he's a friend of Arrow's."

Lois opened her mouth to ask more, professional detachment abandoned. The wail of sirens broke through her focus, chastising the slip.

Stiletto straightened, firmly placing a hand on her hip for good measure. "You want to handle this one, intern? Or do you need help from someone with a little more experience?"

"I think we've got the experience thing covered." Lois whirled at the voice echoing down the alley, her cape spreading wide before twisting around her torso. As Speedy jogged past her, Lois did her best to look dignified.

"Aren't you tired of playing with toys?" she called, eyeing the pretty Lamborghini idling on the street. The sirens had masked its approach, and its driver looked sufficiently smug about sneaking up on her.

"Girls your age shouldn't be playing dress-up," he called back. Speedy slid into the open passenger window—against the shiny green of the car, she really did look like a stoplight—and the Green Arrow flashed Stiletto a smirk. "Why don't you leave the criminals to the real heroes, Leather Legs?"

Lois ground her teeth as he burned rubber, glaring at the fast-fading dot through the dissipating smoke. Then, purely for her own pleasure, she nudged the fallen criminal in the stomach. Hard. With the steely point of her stiletto.

*****

Please let me know what you think!


	2. Lois Lane: Investigative Journalist

I should probably let the story speak for itself, but I'll just clear up the AU business now. When I said "not hugely AU" I meant "the characters are still themselves." And though I originally intended the story to follow SV pretty closely, the more I write the more AU it gets. So while the characters' histories are the same, I'm not guaranteeing the events of their lives haven't changed. If that makes sense. So forgive my misinformation. And I'm not saying anymore for now.

My wonderful beta seems to be MIA, so forgive this self-edited chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville.

*****

Chapter 1

"Lois Lane," the wry, almost sour tone upped Lois's inclination to stab the superhero with the heel of her shoe, but such things were better left for her other job. Instead, Lois forced a wide smile to her lips, hoping her clenched teeth didn't demolish her effort at civility.

"Black Canary," she noted too cheerfully, clenching the lock pick tighter in her fist. The other woman crossed her arms, looking down her nose with a smug smile. Lois couldn't stop herself. "Are the fishnets a requirement, or are you trying to reel in our resident superhero surfer?"

"Good to see all those years in the basement haven't dampened your cynicism," the vigilante noted calmly. "What super secret lab are you breaking into today?" If the yellow and black costume didn't keep her so rigid, Lois was sure she would lean mockingly against the nearest wall.

"What, a girl can't take a nice stroll through town?" As The Black Canary's eyes took in the street, Lois slipped the lock pick into the waistband of her skirt. The woman eyes drifted back to her, narrowing in mistrust. Lois raised an eyebrow in response.

"In Suicide Slums?" Canary asked skeptically.

Lois stared her down a moment more before caving. "All right, fine!" She declared hotly. "I was skulking around hoping for superhero save! My articles need a little pick-me-up, and vigilante stories are charged full of caffeine. I figured Suicide Slums was the place to start." She paused to give the blonde a sour look. "Figures I'd end up with _you_."

"Please, Lane," the she intoned wryly. "If you were any more desperate you'd be begging for scraps at my door."

"Scraps of what?" Lois shot back. "Clothing? Cause from where I'm standing," she made a show of looking the other woman up and down, "you don't have much to spare."

"I don't have time for this," The Black Canary declared, a little exasperated. "Why don't you chase a story you can actually land instead of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Speaking of not belonging, don't you usually patrol cities far, far away?"

The blonde raised a black painted eyebrow, but her mouth quirked at the corners. "And that's why you're still underground." Before Lois could retaliate, she had flipped onto a fire escape and disappeared down the alley.

"What is it with superheroes and snarky one liners?" Lois muttered, retrieving the pick and getting back to work. She had almost opened the deceptively dingy door before her unwelcome visitor dropped in. Every extra click of metal was like a personal affront.

Things between Lois and the glass-shattering harlot had always been a little personal, and Lois wasn't the type to dole out unwarranted second chances.

It started with the date from hell. Oliver Queen was, quite simply, a charming, dry-witted Adonis and Lois'd had no qualms about following him up to his hotel room. If she didn't snag a quote or two, maybe something would come of the company. If a hot, rich and famous playboy wasn't the perfect end to the drought that was her love life, she may as well just marry her career.

Unfortunately, she hadn't banked on him having another date. And she certainly hadn't expected the pixie blonde to go all dominatrix on them. The night had ended with Lois roped and bloody, watching Oliver Queen and Black Canary—Lois tried to dub her Black-Soul Canary, but the moniker hadn't stuck—disappear into the night. Of course, she had gotten a good story out of it, once her close-minded City Editor had been fired. Some people just couldn't appreciate the greater implications of fishnet-clad frequency jammers.

And apparently, she was jamming more than frequencies. Lois would swear the internal maze of the lock had developed a few extra twists since the story smasher had interrupted her scoop.

"Gotcha," Lois declared triumphantly as the heavy door finally swung inward. She tucked the pick into its proper place—a gap in the sole of her heels—and stood, brushing street grit from her clothes. Her eyes darted over her shoulder, and without a second thought she slipped into the building.

It wasn't an impressive sight: a single room, bare except for a single, empty desk.

"Talk about a depressing workspace," Lois muttered, allergies screwing up her nose as several weeks of dust swirled through the air with step. Lois strode to the desk, ignoring the motes as she pulled open drawers, searching for clues.

"Empty, empty, empty, ugh" her hand retreated "_old sock_. Come on, if I don't find documentation of some shady business dealings, I'm going to hunt down my informant and beat him with my notebook."

She reached the last drawer, found it vacant, and kicked it closed. The entire desk rattled, and Lois shielded her nose against the inevitable swirls of dust. The air, however, remained undisturbed.

"Bingo," Lois swept her fingers across the desk, smiling when they came up clean. She rubbed her hands together. "Show me what you got," she commanded, fingers probing the underside of the desk.

They sunk into an indentation, and Lois smiled gleefully as she pressed the hidden button. Thin steps unfolded from the ceiling, like a mechanized attic stairway. They _thunked_ dully on the wooden desktop.

Lois had already clambered onto the desk chair; she didn't pause before hiking her skirt above her knees and sliding her foot onto the first metal step.

"Up, up and away," she quipped aloud.

As soon as Lois poked her head through the ceiling, she knew she'd struck jackpot. In the golden light of several floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see state-of-the-art computers, file cabinets, suspicious duffle bags and at least fifteen drawers sure to hold something incriminating. She pulled herself through the trapdoor and strode to the nearest computer.

"No firewall?" she clucked her tongue in disapproval. "You're just asking for it."

Clicking through the documents, Lois soon found what she was looking for: the District Attorney's most recent spreadsheet.

"Hmm, money laundering, deals with the mob . . . green energy? What the heck is that all about?"

"Legitimate business."

Lois whirled at the sound of Sack's slimy voice, cursing internally. She was a superhero, for crying out loud. How did he manage to sneak up on her?

"I think you missed a room," the man noted smugly, nodding toward a shadowy corner where, sure enough, a door was cracked.

Lois straightened her back and shrugged. "I've got everything I need right here." She patted the pocket containing her jump drive; the same one she hadn't gotten around to pulling out yet.

"I don't think you do," he disagreed. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you don't have much of anything."

"I've got enough to put you behind bars." If she had to come back for the evidence, so be it. "All the facts are right up here," she tapped her head, then crossed her arms and stared him down.

"Well, then," Sacks moved toward her. "I'll just have to improvise."

He reached inside his overcoat, but Lois anticipated his intent. Almost before the gun was out of his pocket, she kicked it from his hand. It went off loudly, leaving a hole in the plaster of the ceiling.

"You left the safety off?" Lois asked incredulously as little chunks of plaster caught in her hair. "Seriously, can you even _pretend_ to know how to use that thing?"

"No matter," Sacks brushed off the incident, inching away from her. "There's always plan B."

"Run for your life?" Lois guessed, amusement tugging at her lips as Sacks continued edging toward the door.

"I find life's a lot easier if someone else does your dirty work."

Sacks suddenly lunged backwards, tripping an alarm Lois hadn't noticed. The reporter flinched as a low, insistent siren filled the air. Metal curtains began sliding over windows, cutting off both the light source and her alternate means of escape, and Lois wondered just how much money Ray Sacks had poured into his unsavory business center. She wasn't going to stay and find out.

She followed Sacks toward the exit, glancing over her shoulder at the computer full of evidence and cursing her lack of foresight. Sacks, sensing an opportunity, veered suddenly off-course to slam his entire weight into her. Lois went down hard, and the man darted for the stairs.

"Sorry I can't stay," the DA tossed over his shoulder as he slid through the hole in the floor. Lois scrambled to her knees, diving for the opening, but Sacks tripped a button and a thick sheet of metal slammed across the hole, missing her fingers by inches.

"Bastard," Lois growled, climbing to her feet with a huff. She had lost a shoe in the scramble, and in the dim light she couldn't see where it had landed. She kicked the other one at the wall, feeling mildly satisfied as it dented the plaster and clattered to the floor.

She gazed around the now-silent, barely lit room, pondering her options.

_Well_, she decided, _since ball-Sacks was nice enough to leave me here, I may as well get what I came for._ This time she pulled out her extra drive immediately, but it didn't make a difference: the lockdown had killed the power, and Lois's facts were buried under a black screen.

"Of course," she muttered, turning to assess the room.

Sacks's hidden room had closed behind him, and Lois was positive she'd heard a reinforcement bar slam down moments earlier. There wasn't any hope for the closed-off stairway; its barrier was half a foot thick.

Faint illumination came from an emergency light in the far corner of the room. She shuffled past the looming shapes of cabinets to the hidden windows. The metal blinds were actually overlapping layers of steel sheets. Lois tried to force them apart, but only succeeded in loosing her lock pick between the layers.

"Great," she muttered, peering down at her chipped nails and wishing for a crowbar. At the very least she could beat the door down. "Okay, Lois, plan C."

She felt along the walls, hoping for some hidden escape. Someone as two-faced as Metropolis's DA surely would have a contingency plan. But all she succeeded in finding was another file cabinet hidden in a corner opposite the windows.

She tried a drawer as a reflex and, as expected, it was locked. She continued down the line, hoping for a loose lock. She had taken all that time and effort to break in, the least Sack's goons could do was forget a lock or two.

Two cabinets down, Lois's fingers skimmed paper. She bit her lip in excitement, squatting as best as she could in her poorly chosen pencil skirt. The drawer was locked, unfortunately, but a corner of paper was caught in the drawer and, by wiggling and tugging, Lois managed to tear a sizeable portion from the original piece. She squinted, trying to read the shadowed print, before giving up and stuffing it through a gap in her shirt. She hoped it was worth the trouble of her little adventure.

"Okay," she addressed the walls, walking the perimeter of the room. "An exit would be really great about now."

Her foot landed on something hard. Lois bent to grab the object; she smiled as her fingers closed around the grip of the gun.

"Thank you, District Attorney."

Before the words were complete, Lois had moved back to the window and taken aim at the top left corner. In the ringing silence following the first shot, Lois heard something clink to the floor.

"And welcome home," she said, stooping to snag the lock pick she'd shaken loose. She aimed again, firing off several bullets with no luck. Frustrated, she felt along the floor for something useful. Finding her abandoned heel, she did her best to peel apart the metal layers. Alternating shots and shoe, Lois finally managed to free the window of two inches of steel.

"Heels and guns, the only friends a girl needs," she quipped as she placed both on the floor. She found the nearest file cabinet and, pushing all her weight against it, managed to topple the metal furniture.

"Come _on_," she huffed, as she pushed the heavy cabinet under the window. "They heard that in China. Is everyone in Suicide Slums deaf?"

Clambering onto her makeshift ladder, Lois peered into the tiny sunlit corner of the window. She could just make out a little black catch between the metal slats and the wall.

Muffled curses sounded suddenly in the room below her. Lois froze. The voices grew louder, and Lois redoubled her efforts.

_Crap_, she thought, furiously twisting the pick, hoping to snag the automatic release hidden in the window frame. _Is the mob on Sack's payroll? 'Cause that was damn fast if his goons came from the good side of town._ On the one hand, having a physical link between Sacks and the mob would make her career. On the other, it was no good if the link was her dead body.

The trapdoor groaned, and Lois's heartbeat quickened.

Her fingers hit resistance, and Lois barely had time to snatch back her hand before the lockdown mode had rolled away. Orangey sun hit her face, and Lois wasted no time in popping the window open and climbing onto the ledge.

"Hey!" came the gruff protest behind her.

She turned to see two burly men fighting each other through the trapdoor. The darker one had pulled his arms through and was now struggling to free his gun. Lois scanned her options, caught sight of a fire escape across the ally, and dove out the window.

As she fell, her only thought was, _not my brightest idea_.

****

**Comments are much appreciated!**


	3. I Need a Hero

**Yay new chapter! Many thanks to Erin, my beta. Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville, Superman, or anything related.**

*******

Her left hand caught rusted metal, and Lois felt the simultaneous pain of her fingers skinning and her shoulder wrenching out of its socket. She clenched her teeth, willing her other arm up, forcing her knuckles to keep their grip. The rest of her fingers caught the edge of the platform, relieving at least a little of the pressure on her left shoulder. It was all she could do to hang on.

She twisted her legs, trying to catch her bare feet on the rough brick of the ally. The fire escape was wide enough that her toes barely scraped the wall, no matter how much she strained. Lois glanced down, assessing the distance between herself and the muddy, blood-stained concrete. On the one hand, she was only a story up. On the other, she was a story up. In the air. With nothing to catch her fall.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" she railed, hoping to keep the panic at bay. The General always said the only way to make a situation worse was to panic.

_Panicking_, she noted hysterically, as a loud _bang_ echoed in the ally. She didn't see where the bullet went, but the next one only missed her head by two inches.

_Come on, Lois_, she lectured herself._ You can do this. The Green Arrow would never let himself get caught this way. Find a way outta this._

At the thought of the other superhero, Lois felt a spark of hope. It was tempered with shame, but she couldn't exactly be picky right now. Sure, Green Arrow was a smug bastard, but what vigilante wasn't? If a superhero happened along, she would gladly take their aid.

"Black Canary's on patrol," she remembered with a groan, flinching as another bullet lodged in the brick under her toes. "Okay," she took a deep breath, ignoring the sharp sting of her left shoulder, "it's all up to you, Lois."

The bullets paused, and Lois glanced toward the window. The two goons had become three, but one was on his cell, another had apparently jammed his gun, and the third was disappearing back into the room.

"Golden opportunity," she muttered. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Lois shifted her weight onto her injured arm. Pulling her body scant inches upward, she suddenly transferred all her weight to the other hand, pulling hard. Her body swung side-to-side, gaining momentum as she switched from hand to hand. Finally, she kicked out her legs, catching her toes on the underside of the stairs.

"See?" Lois asked herself. "And you were going to play the damsel in distress."

She inched her toes forward, shuffling her fingers as she moved closer and closer to the stairs. With her feet firmly planted, she reached out her good arm and caught the railing. She dropped her other hand, swinging sideways as she went to pull herself up. Her eyes chanced upon the alley, and suddenly she knew why the third thug had disappeared.

Lois felt the shot sear her good arm, and her vision went black around the edges. As she tumbled toward the ground Lois felt a sudden rush, an odd sense of weightlessness. She could only be grateful that the darkness was taking over before she could feel her landing.

***

"Tell Canary I've got her."

The low, steady voice washed over Lois, giving her an unexpected sense of safety. There was solid warmth wrapped around her, cradling her, and she couldn't feel the ground. It was probably the effects of the trauma, she reasoned groggily, but she would certainly take it.

_That, or I really am dead_, she added morbidly. She didn't feel broken and battered, so perhaps that was the only option.

Half expecting to see fire and brimstone—she'd broken into too many secure facilities not to be punished—she let her eyes flutter open, groaning as the light pierced straight through her head. Her hand twitched automatically upward to touch her aching head, but a firm grip on her forearm kept all but her fingers pinned down.

Still, the nerves of her fingers were obviously connected to the part of her with a bullet in it. Pain shot up her arm and settled harshly, setting the entire right half of her upper body throbbing.

She groaned, wishing the fading pain from her head didn't seem to rush directly to her arm.

"Are you all right?" This time she felt the rumble against her cheek as his voice soothed her.

Lois turned her head to study the blue chest that had been her pillow. There was a hint of red just under her nose, but she couldn't make out the design. Slowly, she raised her eyes to her rescuer's face. The sunlight shone behind his head, playing with the edges of his dark hair. Even squinting against the brightness, she couldn't quite make out his features.

His eyes, however, were perfectly clear, shaded by the messy hair rustling softly across his forehead. His eyes were clear and confident, almost green in the golden light. And they were watching her with concern.

"Um," she answered faintly, entranced. She could barely remember the question. "Yeah," she finally managed. Lois registered her tone—entirely too damsel-in-distress-rescued-by-a-valiant-knight for her liking—and started. "I mean, you know," she tried to recover. "Other than being shot, dislocating my shoulder and falling twenty feet to the concrete . . . yeah, I'm great."

The concern in his eyes deepened.

"Really," Lois insisted. "I'm fine. Actually," she continued as the fact that she _really was fine_ hit her fully. "Want to tell me how that happened?"

"I caught you," he answered vaguely. Lois opened her mouth to object to the bare-minimum answer, but he leveled a stare at her. She faltered for a fraction of a second, and by the time she regained herself he was speaking.

"You were falling from a building—" he began deliberately, "—while two men shot at you with a dislocated shoulder and a bullet in your arm." His pointed gaze focused on Lois more intently than ever, but she stared back, nonplussed. "Want to tell me how _that_ happened?" he added firmly.

Lois sighed, wishing she could cross her arms. His fingers were only loosely wrapped around her wrist, but she had learned her lesson the last time. Her left arm had more of a dull ache, so she settled for drumming her fingers against her stomach.

"I was just getting a little work done," she evaded, "when those guns-for-hire showed up. I wasn't _looking_ for trouble."

He gave her a look that said he didn't quite believe her. "I've heard you have a tendency to find it anyways."

"'You've heard?'" Lois quoted sardonically. "What, are you stalking me or something?"

He sighed, but didn't reply. She wanted to cross her arms at him, and the fact that she couldn't only annoyed her further.

Lois wiggled her toes in agitation. They felt odd hanging free. Without her constricting heels, the evening air felt especially breezy. Lois raised a leg, grateful that that, at least, was painless. She glanced toward her feet, wondering if her toes were as scraped as her palms.

A broad hand was splayed across her lower thigh, keeping her body tucked into her savior's large frame. The attached arm—supporting her knees, but thick enough that it seemed to encase her entire lower half—was clad in a dirty red jacket. A red jacket that looked surprisingly vivid against the blurred cityscape.

Lois's breath caught, and her left hand clenched the wrist holding her right one. Her eyes shot back to the man's face. "You're _him_," she gasped. "The Red-Blue-Blur!"

He chuckled. The warmth of the sound outscored the soothing tone of his concern by at least 70 percent.

"I think I need a publicist. That's not the easiest name to say."

Lois scrunched her nose. "_I_ came up with that name," she informed him hotly. Well, she had come up with the _Blur_ part, at least. Her editor was the one who felt the need to differentiate between him and all the _other_ blurry superheroes running around Metropolis.

"Sorry," he apologized. Lois could still hear mirth in his voice, but he seemed sincere enough. And he was _the Red-Blue-Blur_. She let it slide.

"So I'm guessing you're why I'm not road kill right now. Thank you." The words were heartfelt, but they seemed so trite. "_Really_," she added, to make sure he got the picture.

"Whatever I can to do help," he replied. "I didn't want you to fall anymore than you wanted to hit the pavement."

The scene flashed into Lois's mind, and she cringed.

"So, what happened to the goons with the guns?" she asked, partly to distract herself, but mostly from actual curiosity.

"They won't be shooting anyone else anytime soon." There was a note of finality in his voice, and his eyes were hard.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Some of my . . . colleagues are taking care of them." He glanced away, over her head. "If time in the county jail doesn't stop them, hopefully a conversation with one of Metropolis's infamous superheroes will."

"Like _Black Canary_?" Lois wondered distastefully.

The edge in her voice made his eyes find hers again. He looked confused, though Lois couldn't fathom why.

"You know Canary?" he wondered, voice unreadable.

Lois stiffened for a moment, suddenly sure he could see every detail of her Stiletto double life in her eyes. She looked at his chin, gathering herself enough to remember she knew the black-and-yellow vigilante in both lives.

"We've had a few encounters." She tried to keep her voice level, but a hint of annoyance crept in anyway. "The first of which involved her tying me to a chair and literally _stealing_ my date."

She wondered how the Red-Blue-Blur would respond to that. He worked with the vulture, after all. Maybe they were friends.

"Canary can take some . . . getting used to," he murmured, non-committal.

Lois snorted in amusement. "And my Dad was a _little_ mad when I hotwired a chopper to make it to Whitesnake's Reunion tour."

The Red-Blue-Blue glanced down at her, bemused. "You're very . . ." he searched for the word and finally settled on "_unaffected_ for someone who recently survived a near-death-experience. You might want to take it easy. Your injuries are rather severe."

"I haven't passed out," Lois pointed out cheerfully. "Anyway," she dismissed. "I've had worse."

Shock slashed through the concern in his eyes. "You've _what_?"

"I mean, not a _lot_ worse, granted," she tried to assuage his dismay. He continued to stare at her. She tried again. "I mean, what's a graze or a head injury in the grand scheme of things, right? People aren't that creative. I've only met a few really inventive criminals."

"_Why_ are people trying to murder you?" he demanded, staring at her like he could pull the answer straight from her eyes.

"I investigate and expose," she explained. "People don't like that."

"So they shoot at you," he stated flatly.

"Comes with the territory," she dismissed. He was blowing this way out of proportion. Didn't he deal with stuff like this all the time?

He watched her for a moment more before shaking his head.

"I always thought they were exaggerating," he muttered, still flummoxed. He took a moment to compose himself, then addressed Lois dubiously. "Regardless of . . . past injuries, you might want to take it easy. Try not to move too much.

Obstinately, Lois twisted her neck to watch the ground. The new stab in her shoulder, combined with the speed with which the ground wooshed by, made her gag and right herself.

"I thought you were the Red-Blue-_Blur_," she joked half-heartedly, hoping he hadn't noticed. "Why aren't we there yet?"

"You have a bullet in your shoulder, Miss Lane. I thought it would be best to avoid further stress."

Despite herself, Lois glanced back at the street. At this speed, she couldn't even identify what part of town they were in.

"This is slow?" she couldn't help but ask.

She watched the sunlight play around his mouth as he fought a grin. His eyes twinkled as they met hers.

"Very."

Lois gulped, heart quickening as she continued to stare into his eyes. She almost didn't notice when the wind faded away, but she did notice deep shadows overtaking the sunlight framing his face.

"We're here," he announced, eyes never wavering.

"Here?" her voice was faint again. Annoyed with herself, Lois blinked and looked up.

Here, apparently, was Metropolis General. Well, the back entrance of Metropolis General.

"I hope you don't mind," he apologized as he set her on a graffiti-covered bench beside a concrete pillar. She touched down on the bench so gently it barely hurt her at all, and he immediately withdrew. His position in the shadows of the pillar may have been deliberate, but his features were a little more distinct than they had been earlier, at an angle, with Lois squinting against the sun.

His face seemed as broad as the rest of him, and Lois bit her lip as her eyes took in what looked to be a very defined jaw line.

She watched curiously as he dug into his jacket and, to her surprise, pulled out a small black cell phone.

"Hey, Emil?" He paused, and Lois strained to hear the faint voice on the other end of the line. Try as she might, it was just white noise. "That should be fine," the Red-Blur-Blur assented. "Thanks." He flipped the phone closed, and Lois did her best to look innocent.

"Sorry I can't stay, but-"

"You're _leaving_?" Lois interrupted, disappointed. The blood loss must be going to her head. She wasn't usually this clingy.

"I can't exactly escort you inside," he pointed out. "A doctor will be out shortly." He glanced toward the entrance, past Lois's line of vision. "Actually, here he comes." He shot her a smile, and Lois wished he would walk into the light so she could appreciate it more fully. "Please, try to stay out of trouble," he added wryly.

Lois opened her mouth to retaliate, but a sudden burst of wind swirled her hair around her. By the time she spit the chocolate strands from her mouth, he was gone.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Lois twisted her head at the unfamiliar voice.

"I'm Dr. Hamilton," he introduced as he pushed the wheelchair around the bench. He was a bit of a disappointment after the man who'd just left, but he looked nice enough.

"Got a first name?" Lois wondered half-heartedly.

The doctor paused, pulling the wheelchair to a stop in front of her. "Emil," he answered after a moment.

Lois's eyebrows shot upward. "Of course," she muttered.

"Can I assist you into the chair?" Dr. Hamilton asked, his eyes assessing her injuries.

"Legs are fine, Doc," Lois told him as she swung them to the ground and stood. Her head was a little woozy, but not as bad as she expected it'd be. The doctor looked worried as she slid herself onto her new seat, but she managed, only jostling her upper body a modicum more than the Red-Blue-Blur had.

"How did you sustain these injuries?" the bespectacled gentleman asked calmly as he wheeled her toward the door.

But Lois was interested in a more pressing question. "How are you connected to the Red-Blue-Blur?" she demanded.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Have you lost consciousness? Is your vision clear?"

"Why did the Red-Blue-Blur call you?" Lois continued obstinately.

"Were you assaulted?"

"How do you know him?"

The doctor sighed. "As I'm the one treating you, why don't you let me ask the questions?"

"Asking questions is who I am," Lois told him tenaciously.

The doctor paused just outside the doors and walked around to face her. "Why don't we compromise? If you answer my questions, so that I can properly _treat you_, I'll answer yours."

Lois eyed him for a moment. She'd had enough experience with doctors to know when they were serious and when they were merely placating her. This one seemed sincere.

"Okay, Doc," she conceded. "You've got yourself a deal."

The doctor nodded resolutely, then pushed her through the door. He started more simply this time.

"What's your name?"

"Lois Lane."

"And would you care to answer my other questions, Miss Lane?"

Lois gave him no more than necessary. "I was walking around Suicide Slums." She ignored the doctor's expression of disapproval. "A few guys . . ." she paused, "chased me onto a fire escape. I was kind of dangling off the edge and one of them shot me," She twisted her head as much as possible so that she could stare deliberately at the doctor, "which is when your friend showed up. My turn?" she hoped she didn't sound _too_ demanding.

"In a moment," Dr. Hamilton assured her. He wheeled her into a room and helped her onto the operating table. Her head lurched a bit; she hoped he didn't notice as she waited for the vertigo to subside. "How's your vision?" he asked again, fingers briefly probing her wrenched shoulder before moving to the graver injury.

"Fine," Lois rolled her eyes, watching the doctor cut her shirt at the shoulder. She sighed internally at the loss of another work shirt, but between the bullet hole and the bloodstains, she knew there was no saving it anyway.

"And have you lost consciousness?" as he spoke, he gently peeled fabric from her wound. Lois clenched her teeth and forced herself to look down. She had expected to see frayed bits of shirt coming away in his hand. Instead, he was removing a rudimentary but adequate bandage.

She had been so curious about the Red-Blur Blur himself, she hadn't given much thought to why she wasn't really bleeding. Her admiration of the hero rose as she wondered where he had learned basic medical training.

"Miss Lane?" The doctor pressed the bandage back to the wound before pausing to give her an expectant look. Lois brought herself back to the present.

"Uh . . . consciousness. Right." Lois thought back. "For a second, I guess, when I was freefalling." Dr. Hamilton gave her a sharp look, and Lois shrugged. She hissed in pain, and the doctor hastened to a cabinet to ready a syringe. "I said I was shot while dangling from a fire escape, Doc. What did you expect?"

"We need to get you into surgery, Miss Lane," he said as he moved back toward her, needle at the ready.

"Hey, hey!" Lois objected, trying to scoot away from him. "You haven't answered my questions yet, Doctor Drug Happy."

"Then please be brief," the Dr. Hamilton insisted.

"How do you know the Red-Blue Blur?" she asked, slightly startled that he was keeping his word.

"He brings in a lot of business," the doctor murmured wryly, resting the hand holding the syringe against the table.

Lois kept the needle in her peripherals as she continued.

"How is it that he knows your phone number?"

"I do what I can to help out, Miss Lane," Dr. Hamilton explained calmly. "Sometimes that means stitching people up, and sometimes it means helping get people inside, when the rescuer would rather stay in the shadows."

"But why _you_?" Lois asked. "Why did _you_ become a trusted colleague of such an amazing hero?"

Dr. Hamilton pursed his lips. After a moment, he said, "When one is given an opportunity to work with those who have different . . . talents . . . than one's own." He turned his head, pondering the rest of the sentiment. "Well," he finally said, "one counts oneself lucky."

Lois stared at the short, dark man, soaking in his words.

"And now, Miss Lane," he began.

Lois tried to protest what she saw coming, but Dr. Hamilton raised his syringe to her neck.

"I really must get you into surgery." She felt a sharp sting, and his face blurred into black.

*********

**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!**


	4. An Unexpected Call

Sorry for taking so long with this chapter! I've been pretty busy, and I didn't want to post it unedited. Hope it's worth the wait!

**Disclaimer: SV, etc. isn't mine.**

*****

Lois crouched in the alley, relishing, perhaps for the first time, the feeling of squeaky leather against her skin. As much as she hated her choice of costume, there was nothing quite like being suited up again.

Since her unfortunate run-in with the DA's minions, she'd been focusing on her day job, per Dr. Hamilton's orders. But as much as she loved exposing the cold hard truth in cold hard print, she had been getting antsy. Her biggest investigation had, unfortunately, gotten her nowhere yet, and without her nightly exercise routine, her pent-up energy had begun unleashing itself on unsuspecting co-workers.

_This is really for their benefit_, Lois justified, eyes scanning the street. She'd seen one of Manheim's goons slither this way, but with the pain still in her arm and shoulder, she'd lost the trail. _That doc's lucky I waited two weeks,_ she grumbled to herself, straightening her back to relieve the tension in her arm.

From her new vantage point, Lois caught a flash of light reflecting off a dark leather jacket.

_Bingo_, she grinned, slipping past the pile of boxes that had been her cover to creep slowly after the man. He looked nervously over his shoulder, but Lois knew he hadn't seen her. He was obviously entry-level, skittish and overzealous. In a few months—if he lasted a few months—he'd realize that his oversized leather coat and black jeans marked him as a target more than it intimidated his victims.

Lois reached out to snag said jacket and bring the man's head in contact with a brick wall. Fingers scant inches away, a sharp sting shot down her arm and she retracted it, hissing in pain.

The short man whirled, eyes scanning the shadows. Gritting her teeth in frustration, Lois sank behind a garbage bin, willing the ache away.

"Jeeze, Benny, cool your jets. Ya gonna get us caught."

The short man whirled again, and his frame lost two inches as the tension sagged from him.

"Jonny," he greeted, a hint of respect in his tone. Then his head turned again, eyes darting past Lois's hiding spot. "I swear there's somebody following me."

"You always swear somebody's following you," the other man dismissed. He was more innocuously dressed, though still in dark colors, and with his mouse-brown hair and forgettable face, Lois was sure no one had looked twice at him.

"What if it's one of _them_?" Benny wondered in an undertone. Lois raised one brow and scooted closer, listening intently.

Jonny laughed, low and sardonic. "Trust me, kid. If you had a cape on your tail, you'd'a been in the slammer twenty minutes ago."

Lois grimaced. He _would_ have been, if she'd been on top of her game. She slowly rolled her shoulder, testing her limits.

"Besides," Jonny added, relishing the words, "we won't have to worry about them capes much longer."

Lois's eyes narrowed, her reporter instincts kicking into high gear. Usually the two sides her life stayed pretty separate; common thugs didn't have much in the way of world-changing schemes. It figured that her first tidbit in weeks came when she wasn't looking for it.

"You're right, Jonny," Benny grinned boyishly, seeming immensely relieved. "Boss'll take care of them, and the streets'll be ours again."

_Oh, please_, Lois scoffed. _Like some crime boss is going to knock out an entire band of superheroes. They sure as hell aren't getting _me_ that easily._

The clacking of heels on pavement caught Lois's attention, and both men looked up.

"Okay, Benny-boy," Jonny dropped his voice, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "Here's your shot at the big leagues."

Lois wasn't quite sure what to make of the short woman striding down the street. Despite her confident gait, she walked quickly, repeatedly glancing over her shoulder. Even more strangely, her head was wrapped so thickly in her dark scarf that her features were entirely obstructed.

Without warning, Benny lurched forward, grabbing the scarf near the top of her head and using the leverage to swing the woman into the nearest wall. She went down hard, her belongings crashing to the pavement as her head jarred against the brick.

Lois darted from her hiding place, sweeping a leg into Jonny's knees as she rushed by him. Behind her, she heard him hit the ground, but she was intent on the haphazard criminal who was, surprisingly, doing quite a number on the little woman on the ground.

"Hey buddy," Lois barked, smiling grimly as Benny glanced up in surprise. "Didn't your mother teach you not to hit a lady?"

He stood as if to fight her, and Lois took the opportunity presented by her new, large target. Gathering the strength in her thighs, Lois pushed into the air and drop kicked the scrawny thug.

Before she could revel in the satisfying thud of his head hitting the concrete, a heavy figure crashed into her from behind, sending her flying toward the pavement. Lois managed to roll onto her uninjured shoulder, but the impact knocked the breath from her and set her wounds throbbing again.

Lois looked up at Jonny, hovering over her and raising a gun in her direction. Without a second thought she kicked the gun from his fingers. His eyes widened, and Lois tucked her aching arm to her chest so she could jump back to her feet. She elbowed him across the face, simultaneously kneeing him in the stomach. Jonny went down again.

Benny had recovered, and was currently scrambling toward his victim, who was slowly pulling herself to her feet. He grabbed her briefcase by the strap, and made as if to run.

"I don't think so," Lois told him. Kicking a leg high, she swung her foot against the side of his head, sending him sprawling. The bag slipped from his grasp, skidding across the pavement to land at Jonny's feet. He grabbed the briefcase and took off down the street. Before Lois could get two strides after him, he had jerked a motorcycle from behind a dumpster and burned rubber. Lois stared after him, feeling cheated.

With a huff she turned, taking comfort in the sight of the woman she rescued, finally back under her own power.

"Are you alright?" Lois began, inching closer to the overhang where the victim was crouched low, scouring the street for her belongings. She jolted at the sound of Lois's voice, and Lois paused, wondering how traumatized the girl was. Lois glanced over at Benny, groaning and still on the ground. He couldn't have done _that_ much damage, could he?

Taking advantage of her distraction, the woman in the shadows snagged her purse and ran, ignoring the littering of metro cards and makeup scattered across the grimy street.

"Hey!" Lois yelled after her, but the woman only ran faster, wind pulling the grimy scarf down her blonde hair as she disappeared around a corner.

"What could possibly be so important?" Lois muttered, eyes fixed on the empty road.

Sighing, she turned to Benny. He was trying to sit, but she quickly disabused him of that idea by shoving her left boot under his chin.

"Don't bother," she told him, putting her hands on her hips. Who needed functional arms to incapacitate an attacker, anyway? "This is Stiletto you're messing with."

She made surprisingly quick work of tying him up, then she shoved him against the nearest dumpster. He eyed her resentfully, but made no attempt to pull himself to his feet.

"Stick around," she told him anyway. "The Boys in Blue will be here any minute."

_Just have to call them first_, she added to herself, looking around for a payphone. She caught sight of one down the block, and patted her pockets for cash. Her mouth twisted when she realized they were empty.

"I really have to sew a cell-phone pouch into this thing," Lois muttered, debating her options. She could search Benny's pockets again, but at this point she was pretty sick of him. And she wouldn't put it past him to try something.

Instead, she crouched against the wall where he had attacked the blonde woman, hoping some change had spilled from her purse along with the lipstick.

"Gum, metro card, advil—aha!" Lois interrupted herself, catching sight of a slim orange and sliver square half-buried under a flier. "This'll work."

She punched in the numbers, half surprised the phone wasn't locked.

"911, what's your emergency?" came the cool voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh my gosh!" Lois put on her best damsel-in-distress voice, blinking wildly for good measure. "This thug _totally_ attacked this woman. And Stiletto took him out!"

"What is your location?" the woman asked, voice unchanged.

"Uh . . ." Lois squinted at the sign at the end of the street. "Main and Fifth."

"A dispatch team is on its way to your location. Please stay on the line until-"

Lois snapped the phone shut, wondering what to do next. Her shoulder hurt like hell, but the thought of giving up stung her ego. She'd been MIA for two weeks, and she felt the need to make up for lost time. Still, if she put any more strain on the wound, she was pretty sure she'd be locked up for _another_ two weeks. It was probably best to call it a night.

Resigned, Lois examined the cell in her hands, wondering if it'd be simpler to return it herself, or leave it as evidence. The woman _had_ been in quite a hurry to get away. Maybe she had a thing against the badge-wielding population.

With a shrug, Lois stuffed the phone down the top of her boot. She could deal with it tomorrow. Right now, a long hot bath was calling her name.

*****

Lois sank into the plush cushions of her sofa, eyes trained on the stacks of notes and documents piled on her coffee table. She was suffering an unfortunate case of insomnia, and the hour-long bath had done little to help. A little work was just what she needed. Taking a fortifying sip of coffee, Lois dug in.

Her investigation into Ray Sacks had been a headache, and so far she'd come up empty. Sure, she'd found his connections to organized crime, his shady back room deals with a certain science-mad Senator, and a gaping hole in his financial records, but Lois knew there was more to the story. And after that superhero crack by Manheim's men, she was starting to wonder if the capes really were involved in whatever they were up to.

It was times like these that Lois really wished she weren't such an outcast amongst her fellow costumed crusaders. It probably hadn't been the best idea to put so many quotes in that first Stiletto article. Green Arrow and his ilk had taken her closeness to the Daily Planet as a blatant disregard for their rules of secret identities. She'd since left any Stiletto articles to her co-workers, but she couldn't seem to get her alter ego into the good graces of Metropolis's heroes.

Which sucked, because she knew she was missing vital information about the cluster and their secret base. Something that might give her an edge on the DA's dealings.

The phone rang, jolting her from her study of the mob's latest known business ventures. Distracted, she snatched her cell from the table and put it to her ear.

"Lois Lane," she announced into the speaker.

The phone kept ringing. Confused, Lois looked down at her screen. Her cell phone was asleep.

_Duh, duh, di-ing_.

After a moment of confusion, Lois mind flashed to the phone she'd picked up the night before. Relieved she wasn't crazy, she followed the sound of it to her bedroom and snatched it from the dresser.

"Yeah?" she inquired of the speaker.

Her reply was a garbled rush of air. She raised an eyebrow and waited, annoyed, but nothing came through the line but a few sharp clangs.

Lois frowned at the phone, finger moving to click it off.

"Hello?" the voice was muffled and distracted, which seemed silly, as he was the one to call her. Whoever _her_ had been.

Lois sank onto her bed, already sick of the phone call. At least she'd be able to figure out who the mystery woman had been and get rid of the damn phone.

Another rush of air, and then the voice was clear and businesslike, "Watchtower, I need those building schematics."

Lois's heart nearly stopped.

Even through the phone, his voice flowed around her, warming her and wrapping her in an inexplicable feeling of security. The sounds of scuffling and wooshing should have tipped her off—her brain had apparently taken a vacation this morning—but there was no mistaking that baritone. She was _on the phone_ with the _Red Blue Blur_.

Who the hell _was_ that woman she had rescued?

"Watchtower?" his voice was insistent, and Lois realized she'd been silent for far too long. Not that she had any intention of speaking again and giving herself away. "I need an entrance. There are cameras everywhere, and motion sensors at every opening. I can't wait for Arrow on this."

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. The woman was some sort of operations manager for Green Arrow's men, someone at their beck-and-call, who could sit behind a desk and look up important information.

Now how did that little slip of a blonde land a job like that?

"You have a secretary?" the wry words slipped out before Lois could stop them.

Silence greeted her, then the dull sound of a dial tone. Lois pulled the phone from her ear and stared at the fading screen, angry with herself. If only she had kept her tongue in check for five seconds . . . .

Her anger was short-lived. In the lower right corner, the word _contacts_ greeted her like a neon sign.

"Holy crap," Lois breathed, eyes fixed on the bottom of the screen. "I have the _phone_ of the _secretary_ of Metropolis's masked vigilante club."

Greedily pressing the little button, Lois scrolled down the list. She was surprised to find it contained names such as _Queen, Oliver_ alongside the expected _Green Arrow, Speedy, _and _Black Canary_. The little desk worker had even managed to get Lex Luthor's private line, something that seemed to change whenever Lois got her hands on it.

Without a second thought, Lois grabbed her notepad from the nightstand and started scribbling numbers.

Intent on her task, she nearly fell off the bed when the phone rang again. Lois took the time to read the LCD before hitting SEND. She listened for a voice, wondering who the hell CK was, even as she scrawled the letters below her notes.

"Hello?" the voice was wary this time, but undeniably the Red Blue Blur.

She almost dropped her pen.

"Don't hang up!" Lois begged, nearly tripping over her tongue in her haste.

There was a long pause, and Lois was nearly positive she would soon hear a dial tone. When he spoke again, she smiled in relief.

"Who is this?" he demanded. "How did you get that phone?" he continued before she could answer.

"I found it," Lois said immediately. "This blonde was getting mugged; she must have dropped it in the scuffle."

There was another pause as he ruminated on her story.

"Who is this?" he asked more gently. Still, there was no denying the power behind that voice.

Lois, for once, was at a loss.

_Lois Lane_, she tried to say; but if he was as prejudiced against her exposes as the rest of his cohorts, that would get her nowhere.

_Miss Lane_, she almost said next; but that would do no better in hiding her identity, and there was no guarantee he'd remember her name from their brief encounter.

_The hottie you saved from certain death two weeks ago_, she half joked in her head.

"Stiletto," was the name that left her unwitting lips.

_Right, like _that's _any better than Lois Lane to the superheroes around here. At least he's _met_ Lois Lane._

She went on in a rush, "I saved your little blonde friend from a few mobsters earlier tonight, but she took off before I could give her back her phone. She's a little skittish, isn't she? Luckily for her I saved it from an evidence bag. Something tells me you don't want your phone number to wind up in a police file. Though I guess it wouldn't be too hard for you to retrieve it . . .." Realizing she was rambling, Lois pressed her lips together.

"Stiletto?" he parroted, sounding both surprised and amused. "The costumed kick boxer Green Arrow likes to complain about?"

"So he does talk about me," Lois joked with a wry smile. At least she knew for sure that the Emerald Archer liked to avoid her. "And you are?" she hinted, though she already knew the answer. There was no need to lay all her cards on the table.

He paused again before admitting, "I'm the Red Blue Blur."

A smile crept onto her face. She wasn't sure if it was her superhero guise, the distance of the phone call, or the fact that she was no longer in need of a savior, but Lois was feeling distinctly herself despite her usual hero-worship of the RBB.

"So you're the superstud I've been hearing so much about," she said flippantly. He cleared his throat, and she could all but hear him blush on the other end of the line.

_He's unexpectedly modest_, Lois noted, penning the information for no other reason than her own benefit.

"Who've you been talking to?" he wondered, any embarrassment hidden from her ears.

"Oh, you know." Lois waved her hand through the air, lounging back onto her pillows. She kicked her shoes off, hoping she could drag out the conversation. "Speedy, Green Arrow, Black Canary. The usual."

"I take it you don't see much of the others," the Red Blue Blur guessed.

"They're not too fond of me, so you tell me," Lois dismissed.

"That's alright," he brushed off her concerns. "Even I don't see much of Impulse, and I'm almost fast enough to keep up with him."

Lois's ears perked. She wrote _Impulse_ in capital letters in the margin of her notes. Beside the name, she added, _ridiculously fast_.

"Who knew there was someone faster than you?" Lois stated casually.

He seemed to realize he'd given her information, because he closed up. "Anyway, I've got a situation to handle. Where can I pick up Watchtower's phone?"

Lois panicked. Fellow superhero or not, there was no way she was letting him in on her identity. Besides, how embarrassing would it be when he realized the reporter he'd saved played superhero at night?

"I'm a little busy right now," she evaded, hoping he'd assume she was on patrol.

"So am I," he reminded.

Lois remembered the earlier call. He was obviously in the middle of something. She was surprised he'd stayed on as long as he had.

"What building?" Lois asked out of curiosity.

"Sorry, what?" he sounded distracted, and a little taken aback.

"You said something about needing schematics for a building you're breaking into. What building?"

He hesitated, then told her, "Luthorcorp."

Lois brightened. This one, she could help with. "There's an escape route through the sewer system, opposite the Daily Planet," she told him, feeling kind of good that she could actually aid a fellow vigilante. "Drop down the manhole in the left alley and walk 200 yards. The hatch will get you into the basement without tripping any alarms."

There was a pause, another woosh.

"Thanks," he sounded a little surprised that her tip had worked out.

"Happy to help," Lois said sincerely.

"I've got to go," he apologized, his voice distorted by the sounds of a heavy metal door budging against its will.

Lois positively itched with curiosity, but she bit back her questions. "Good luck," she offered instead.

"Thanks," he mumbled, distracted again.

"Wait a sec!" she called before he could hang up. She didn't hear a dial tone, so she continued, "There was a phone booth near Blondie's little spill. Corner of Main and Fifth. I'll stick her cell underneath the phone book. Say 5 o'clock?"

She glanced at the clock beside her bed. That gave her at least two hours to dig information from the device in her hand.

She wondered if he'd still be up an hour before sunrise. Did he have a day job?

"Five," he affirmed, and the line went dead.

Lois let her hand fall from her ear. She stared at the bright little phone, almost unable to comprehend the last twenty minutes.

Then she was off the bed, darting into the living room with the phone and her notepad clutched tightly in her hands.

Grabbing her own phone from the counter, Lois hit speed dial one, listening impatiently as the phone rang once, twice, half-way through a third. She spoke before he could muster a groggy hello.

"Jimmy, saddle up your camera and dust off your reporter's cap. I have got the scoop of the century."

*****

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